


Sick Peter's Special Soup

by GreatCanadianJackalope (Airla)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Fluff and Angst, Graphic descriptions of soup preparation, Happy Ending, Human Peter Hale, Lawyer Peter Hale, M/M, Making Up, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 13:04:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16619510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airla/pseuds/GreatCanadianJackalope
Summary: Peter is sick and miserable, and the only thing that could possibly make him feel better is his ex's chicken noodle soup.





	Sick Peter's Special Soup

“Isaac!” Peter bellows from his office.

 

Isaac lets his head fall to his desk, and he groans in frustration. It’s now four in the morning, and neither of them has slept all night. Instead, they have been working on a high profile case.

 

Peter doesn’t always force Isaac to stay late when he does, but he was in a bad enough mood yesterday to make sure that no one was about to leave before him.

 

Isaac knows for a fact there’s a passed out paralegal down the hallway, and at least three junior associates a floor down, trying desperately to stay awake and impress Peter.

 

“Isaac, for fuck sakes, do not make me tell you twice. And bring me a new box of tissues. This one is empty, and I so help me God if you bring me any of that generic sandpaper, I will fire you.”

 

Isaac groans again, but stands up this time. He grabs an unopened box of name brand, four-ply tissue paper that he keeps stashed in his bottom drawer and heads in to Peter’s office.

 

This is the problem, Isaac thinks as he hands the box over. Peter is sick. He’s sick, and he’s in an absolutely miserable mood.

 

Peter hands him a stack of papers and says, “Take this down to tweedle dee and tweedle dumb. They need to take it to Noshiko Yukimura. Tell them to give it to her and to no one else. And, under no circumstance, should you let tweedle dumbest go with them. He will absolutely fuck it up.”

 

Isaac nods and asks, “Then we can all go home, right? There isn’t any progress we can make on the case until she’s done with the files.”

 

Peter looks at his watch. “Oh I wouldn’t dream of keeping you, Mr. Lahey. I’ll see you bright and early for the start of the work day, which is in oh about two hours.”

 

Isaac rolls his eyes and says, “I’m going home to shower and eat. I suggest you do the same. You’re not looking your freshest.”

 

Peter narrows his eyes. “Well that was rude. You know most people wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior from their assistant. You’re very lucky I am such a patient man.

 

“Yeah you’re a real saint,” Isaac said sarcastically. He turns to go when Peter stops him.

 

“Wait, one more thing. I need some of my husband’s chicken soup, pick some up from him on your way back in this morning. He always has some ready in the freezer.”

 

Isaac looks at Peter incredulously and says, “Peter, no offense man, but I don’t think Stiles is going to appreciate his ex-husband’s assistant calling him up this early in the morning asking for a favour.”

 

Peter looks thunderous at this, and Isaac immediately regrets saying anything.

 

“Husband, thank you very much. We are separated, not divorced. And until such a time, he is still my husband. And I need that soup, okay? If you want to keep your job, you will get me that soup.”

 

“Right,” Isaac says, drawing the word out. “I’m going to go. I guess I can try, but there are no promises.”

 

 

***

 

 

Stiles wakes to the unwelcome sound of his phone ringing. He scrambles to grab it and curses when he sees who’s calling.

 

“Isaac, what the fuck, man?” He asks and looks at the time. “Why the hell are you calling me at the ass crack of fucking dawn, dude?”

 

He can hear Isaac sigh heavily on the other end of the line. “Look man, I’m sorry to be calling this early in the morning, but it’s Peter.”

 

Stiles bolts up in his bed, panic running through him. “Holy shit, is he okay? Oh my God, what happened?”

 

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. He’s just sick. And before you freak out about that, I mean he has a cold. Just about the worst case of man flu I’ve ever seen mind you, but still just a cold,” Isaac explains hastily.

 

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh good. Yeah man, Peter’s a drama queen. You had to know that would extend to him being sick too.”

 

“Listen man, Peter really wants your chicken noodle soup. He said that you always have some ready to go. So can you help me out man?” Isaac asks.

 

“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the p.

 

“What do you mean no?” Isaac asks, sounding exasperated.

“I mean no. You want it in Spanish, buddy? No. Also I could point out that I actually said nope.”

 

“Stiles, I am literally begging you. I only just got off work and Peter expects me back in two hours with your soup. He is insisting we all keep working even though we are at a halt in his case anyway. Please, Stiles. I know he’s not your favourite person. Hell, I know I’m not your favourite person, but please will you just give me the soup?” Isaac pleads.

 

Stiles sighs, “Look, man. Contrary to what you think, I’m not actually an asshole. Even if you did steal my best friend, I wouldn’t wish a sick and miserable Peter on anyone. I can’t give you the soup because I don’t have any. I used the last of my chicken stock when I made risotto last week.”

 

Stiles can practically hear Isaac deflate over the phone. “Alright well thanks anyway, Stiles. I’m sorry for waking you up so early.”

 

“Look, get him a pack of extra strength halls. Make sure it’s honey lemon and definitely not cherry. He also likes those ridiculous medicine ball drinks from Starbucks. Get him a grande because he will absolutely not finish a venti before it gets cold, and then he’ll just complain that it’s cold,” Stiles explains gently.

 

“Thanks, Stiles,” Isaac says and then ends the call.

 

Stiles flops back on the bed and goes back to sleep.

 

Or at least he tries to go back to sleep. He really does, but all he can think about is Isaac’s sweet cherub face as he gets yelled at by Peter. And he can’t help it he feels bad for Peter too. He may be an asshole, but he’s still Stiles’ husband, for now anyway. And for better or for worse, he does still love him.

 

Stiles snorts at the thought. He supposes that in _sickness or in health_ means he had better get his ass out of bed and make Peter some damn soup. Stiles wonders if, there were a vow somewhere in there about staying with your partner even if he’s a workaholic asshole who cares only about himself, then maybe they’d still be together.

He stumbles into his kitchen and turns on the coffee pot. He tells himself that if he doesn’t have everything he needs to make it, he’ll just go back to bed and not give it another thought. Stiles opens the fridge and groans.

 

He should really know better than to think he wouldn’t have the ingredients. He cooks all the time, and most of what he needs are items he usually keeps around. He even has left over chicken spines from three nights earlier when his dad had visited.

 

He pulls out everything he needs, hooks his phone up to the speaker system, and cranks his music.

 

His kitchen is huge. It has ample counter space, state of the art appliances, and is fully stocked with any gadget Stiles could ever hope for. It had been a gift from Peter. When they agreed to move in together, he promised Stiles that the space would be just as much his as it was Peter’s.

 

Peter really did deliver on the promise. From this amazing kitchen to his gaming set up, there were elements of Stiles all over the huge apartment.

 

When they separated, Peter was the one who moved out. He still pays for it, which is a good thing because there is no way Stiles can afford it on his teaching salary.

 

Stiles thinks of Peter as he begins to cook. He cuts Spanish onions, carrots, parsnips, garlic and turnips, and he thinks about all the times Peter has watched him do this.

 

As he pulls out his soup pot and browns his chicken spines, he thinks about their long conversations over dinner.

 

He adds the vegetables to the pot, and he thinks about how much they laughed together.

 

He brings the pot to a boil and adds fresh parsley and thyme. He thinks about drinking wine on a blanket in front of the roaring fireplace.

 

He turns the burner to simmer, and thinks about being teased for hours. He thinks about strong hands that held him steady, and the intense pressure when Peter finally pushed in to him. He thinks about the push and pull, their bodies working in tandem to find that sweet release.

 

Stiles shakes his head. He can’t afford to be thinking like this. When he does, it’s too easy to forget the constant arguments and the plethora of lonely nights. It’s too easy to forget that he wasn’t enough for Peter.

 

He takes the time to skim the fat from the stock as it forms on top. When the broth finally stays clear, he walks over to the couch in the living room and collapses into it.

 

He turns his music off, picks up the remote, and starts scrolling through Netflix. He lets himself indulge in one of his favourite marvel movies. If Peter were here, he’d make fun of Stiles for picking something he’s already seen a hundred times.

 

 

***

 

Normally when Stiles makes this stock, he lets it simmer for over twelve hours. He figures Isaac won’t make it that long so he settles for five hours. At about nine in the morning he gets up and starts to prepare the vegetables that will actually go in the soup. He dices celery, carrots, onions, and parsnips, and sets them aside.

 

This is about as far as he can go without getting Peter there first. Stiles could always finish the soup and bring it to him at work. But then Peter wouldn’t actually stop working. This way is better for everyone.

 

Stiles takes a second to hope the place doesn’t burn down while he’s gone. Then he grabs his keys and leaves.

 

He’s not a huge fan of driving in downtown San Francisco, but with traffic, it’s only about a fifteen-minute drive to Peter’s firm. That had always been a bone of contention when they were together. It drove him crazy that Peter would stay overnight at work when they lived so close.

 

Stiles pulls into a visitor parking spot in the parkade that’s underneath Peter’s building. He rides the elevator all the way up to the 45th floor.

 

As soon as he steps out of the elevator, the area around him goes silent. People are staring at him, and he’s pretty sure someone lets out an emphatic, “Thank God.”  


He holds his head up high and strolls toward Peter’s office. Everyone keeps staring at him as he goes, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. He’s sure they’re all hoping he’s here to take Peter away, or at the very least, shut him up.

 

As he get’s close to Peter’s office, he can hear the shouting.

 

“Is this canned? I swear to everything that is holy I will freak out if this is canned. Could you not have at least gone to a restaurant or a café?” Peter yells, his voice sounding horse.

 

“Peter, there is no restaurant in the city that sells soup at nine in the morning. I don’t know what else you want from me. I have been up all night, I got you your halls, and I got your stupid tea abomination,” Isaac complains, gesturing at the venti Starbucks cup on the desk.

 

Peter makes a sound of annoyance and says, “That’s another thing. That tea was cold before I could even finish it. What did you do, give it a tour of the city before you gave it to me?”

 

When Stiles reaches the doorway, he’s shocked to see how bad Peter looks. He is completely disheveled, his suit is a mess, and he’s really pale.

 

“You look ridiculous, Peter. This is ridiculous. You need to go home, you’re too sick to be at work,” Stiles says, interrupting their argument.

 

Peter looks over at him, shocked.

 

Isaac sighs in relief, “Please tell me you brought the soup.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Why do you hate me, Stiles? What have I done to deserve this kind of torture?” Isaac asks dramatically.

 

Stiles huffs a laugh and tells Peter, “Come on you. You are way to sick to be working right now. I’m taking you home.”

 

Peter narrows his eyes and says, “As you can see, I am far to busy to be leaving here right now.”

 

“Cut the shit, Hale. Isaac already told me that nothing you’re working on right now is time sensitive. We both know that you’re here, and forcing everyone else to be here, because you don’t want to be miserable alone.”

 

Stiles marches over to Peter and hauls him up from his seat. Peter must be feeling weak because he doesn’t put up any resistance. He’s unsteady as Stiles pushes him towards the door. Stiles places a hand on his back and says, “Come on I’m taking you home. I made you your stupid soup.”

 

“You did?” Peter asks, tone brightening.

 

“Yes, but if you don’t hurry up, the damn place is going to catch on fire.” Stiles turns back to Isaac and adds, “Go home, dude. Take the rest of today off to make up for last night, and take tomorrow too. Peter won’t be coming in.”

 

Peter immediately begins to protest, but Stiles pinches him on his arm, and that seems to shut him up.

 

As they walk back to the elevator, people say good-bye to Peter and wish him a speedy recovery. Greenberg even tries to start a round of applause. No one else is stupid enough to join in.

 

“Tweedle dumbest does not get to go home. Do you hear me, Isaac? He has to stay here,” Peter demands, pointing at Greenberg.

 

The elevator doors close and suddenly it’s just the two of them. Peter deflates instantly.

 

“You look like Shit, Peter. Why did you let it get this far?” Stiles asks and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

 

Peter sinks into the embrace and says, “What would be the point of going home alone when there is work that can be done.”

 

Stiles snorts and says, “That’s your answer for everything. What’s the point of doing something else when I could be working? The point is that you are giving yourself a break. The point is that there is more to life than working.”

 

Peter is silent next to him, which is so wholly unlike him, that it makes Stiles nervous. When Stiles looks at him, he sees that Peter is practically asleep next to him.

 

When they make it to the parkade, Stiles shoves Peter into the passenger seat. He’s asleep before Stiles makes it back on to the street.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Getting Peter up to the apartment isn’t an easy feat, but he manages it. Stiles settles him onto the couch, puts a blanket over him, and goes back to the damn soup.

 

Stiles wonders what the hell is so special about this soup as he strains out the stock. He knows it’s delicious – he has tasted it after all — but that can’t be enough for Peter freak out at Isaac over it, can it? Then again, Peter is the most dramatic person he knows, especially when he’s sick.

 

He strains the stock a again, this time through cheese cloth to catch any small particles. He adds the chopped vegetables back in as well as fresh ginger, and boneless chicken thigh. While the chicken cooks, he heads back over to Peter.

 

Peter has always looked about five years younger when he sleeps, but Stiles can’t get over how peaceful he looks in this moment. He pets Peter’s head gently, smoothing his hair back and off his face.

 

Peter never let’s his hair get this long, but as it is, it looks like he hasn’t cut it since before they broke up, 3 months before. It’s so long that now it curls over his ears. He also looks like he hasn’t trimmed his beard in a few weeks. This is so unlike Peter, he’s normally way more concerned with his appearance.

 

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself my love,” Stiles murmurs softly. Peter doesn’t stir.

 

He allows himself to sit and watch Peter for another ten minutes before he has to go and finish the soup.

 

He sighs and heads back over to the kitchen. The chicken thighs are ready, so he pulls them out and roughly shreds them with two forks. He puts the chicken back in, adds chopped scallions, and a bit of fresh dill. He seasons the soup and then, finally, adds the noodles. Peter is very picky about his noodles and can’t stand it when they’re mushy.

 

When the noodles are done, Stiles takes the pot off the heat and ladles out two bowls of soup.

Stiles grabs the box of gourmet crackers that he hates, and puts a handful on a plate for Peter. He brings the food into the living room and places it on the coffee table.

 

He puts a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder to wake him up. It doesn’t work, so Stiles, not so gently, shakes him awake.

 

“Wake up, Peter. Your soup is done. And I know for a fact that you probably haven’t eaten for two days. You can sleep when you’re done.”

 

Peter groans and sits up. When he’s fully seated, Stiles picks the blanket up from where it fell and wraps it around him.

 

“Everything hurts,” Peter whines.

 

Stiles pets his hair and coos, “Oh I know it does, baby. The soup will help though, and I’ll get you some cold medicine from the medicine cabinet.”

 

When he returns from the bathroom, Peter is carefully spooning his soup out, and sighing in pleasure with every bite. It’s so cute that Stiles thinks his heart is going to melt.

 

He hands him the pills and a glass of water. Peter swallows the pills without complaint and Stiles boggles.

 

“Dude, what is wrong with you?”

 

Peter looks at him, deadpan. “I’m sick.”

 

Stiles shakes his head and says, “No I mean what is wrong with you. You haven’t really argued with me once today. I literally just called you dude, and you didn’t say anything.”

 

Peter just shrugs and keeps eating his soup.

 

“Agh. Seriously? This isn’t you, Peter. You’re not taking care of yourself. You’re over working yourself – even by your standards which is saying a lot, and now you’re being weird and complacent,” Stiles exclaims, frustrated.

 

Peter turns a sharp look on him and grits out, “I thought you didn’t want to fight any more?”

 

Stiles gapes. “That is not what I meant, Peter. I meant that I didn’t want every interaction that we had to be a huge fight. That doesn’t mean I don’t want us to squabble. That’s literally who we are Peter. We sass each other constantly. That’s what we do.”

 

“Oh really? That’s what we do? The way I see it, one day my husband comes to me and tells me that he’s deeply unhappy and doesn’t want to be with me anymore. And I have no choice but to respect that. But when I try to respect his wishes, he get’s mad at me. I’m trying to do what’s right for you, Stiles, I really am. You aren’t making it easy for me.”

 

This is probably the most emotion that Peter’s shown since before they broke up. Stiles’ heart pounds in his chest. Could Peter have really been so blindsided? Stiles had been so unhappy for so long, there’s no way Peter hadn’t known.

 

Stiles tries to keep his voice steady when he says, “You can act like the victim all you want, buddy. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you hadn’t been home for three days before we broke up.”  


“God dammit, Stiles. I know that I wasn’t always the best husband. No, let’s call a spade a spade. I was a terrible husband to you. I see that now. But you never once told me, in all the fights that we had, that you were having doubts about our marriage. You never once told me that you were that unhappy. And when you finally did, you left me. You didn’t give me chance to even begin to make it up to you. Hell, you still haven’t told me half of what was bothering you.”

 

Stiles reels back in hurt. “Oh I never told you? I never said anything? Well Peter, maybe if you’d been home, you would have seen how unhappy I was. Maybe if you bothered to sleep in your own bed, you would have heard all the times I cried myself to sleep at night. You would have seen how it would tear me apart wondering what you were doing, wondering if you were okay, wondering if you were with someone else.”

 

Peter looks stunned, “With someone else? You thought I was, what? Cheating on you?”

 

“What else am I supposed to think, Peter? We hadn’t had sex in months, and you were never home,” Stiles says, tears welling up.

 

Peter looks at him solemnly and says, “I swear to you, Stiles, that I have never cheated on you. I would never cheat on you.”

 

Stiles lets out a shuddering breath. Something deep in his chest uncurls at this revelation.

 

Peter continues, “Look, I guess I knew that things weren’t right at home. I didn’t want to crowd you if you were upset with me. As excuses go I know it’s a weak one, but you have to remember that you are my first real relationship. Before you, there was just a string of hook ups and one night stands. You are the first and only person that I have ever loved, and sometimes it was just a lot of pressure. And you’re right. I do work too much. I always have, and I use it to escape my problems. I never dreamed that it was hurting you so much though. I thought you didn’t want me around all the time. I thought I was doing the right thing for you.”

 

Stiles lets out a shocked laugh and says, “I think that may be the most you have ever talked about your feelings in all the time that I’ve known you, Peter Hale. Now eat your fucking soup before it gets cold.”

 

They eat the rest of their meal in stilted silence. Stiles wishes he had the foresight to turn the TV on, so they’d have something to distract them.

 

When they’re both finished, Stiles clears the dishes away. He offers his hand, and helps Peter to his feet. They walk in silence to the bedroom. The sheets are still rumpled from when he was abruptly rumpled that morning.

 

Peter doesn’t say anything about it even though Stiles knows the unmade bed bothers him.

 

Once Stiles gets Peter undressed and settled into bed, he goes back to the living room and grabs the water glass, fills it up again and brings it to Peter’s bedside. He’s just leaving the room when Peter stops him.

 

“I wish you would have told me then. I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m sorry that I didn’t see. But God, do I wish you had said something. If only so you wouldn’t have had to carry that pain all this time. I just… if I had known, I would have done something. We could have talked it out, or gone to marriage counseling, and I would have changed,” Peter says, pleading.

 

Surprised, Stiles asks, “You would have gone to therapy? You, Peter Hale, would have gone to therapy?”

 

“I would have done anything, dearheart. That includes paying someone an insane amount of money three times a week to tell me that I have mommy issues,” Peter says, nodding.

 

Stiles laughs for the first time in what feels like ever. He laughs so hard his belly hurts. There’s something about the image of Peter Hale sitting in a shrinks office, trying desperately to be on his best behavior.

 

“Would you still?” Stiles asks, “even if there is no guarantee that we get back together? Would you go for your own sessions too?”

 

Peter gives Stiles his most charming smile and states, “darling I would jump off my building for a chance to get you back.”

 

“Would you wear a thirty dollar suit from Kmart?” Stiles asks, smirking.

 

Peter looks suitably appalled. “Let’s not get crazy, love.”

 

They share a long look before bursting into laughter. When they laugh together like this, for just a moment, it feels the way it did before everything got so messed up.

 

Stiles stops laughing and meets Peters eyes. “Okay.”

 

“Okay?” Peter asks hopefully.

 

“I think we should try. And I am not letting you off the hook for counseling. It was your idea, buddy, and you’re going to see it through.”

 

Peter’s grin at this is radiant. It’s been so long since he’s seen Peter smile like this that Stiles has almost forgotten what it looks like.

 

Peter opens his arms in invitation, and Stiles crawls into bed next to him. Stiles settles into his arms and lets his head drop onto Peter’s chest. He revels in the feeling of Peter holding him for several long minutes.

 

Just when Stiles thinks he’s asleep, Peter says, “I hope you know I will expect similar cuddling when I wake up. You know how I like to be coddled when I’m sick.”

 

Stiles snorts. “Oh I know. Don’t worry there will be more soup and snuggles for you when you get up.”

 

Stiles really does intend to get up once Peter falls asleep, but he is just so content, and he can’t help but be lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath him. This is all he’s wanted for so long.

 

He falls asleep.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really love season one Peter, so I brought back the long hair. I make no apologies.


End file.
